


The Sky of the Sky of a Tree Called Life

by misschristmas



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blow Jobs, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, Hand Jobs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-16
Updated: 2015-04-16
Packaged: 2018-03-23 06:43:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3758293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misschristmas/pseuds/misschristmas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel developed a habit after he fell from grace that stuck with him long after he got his mojo back. Dean is curious, and wary, and so in love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sky of the Sky of a Tree Called Life

**Author's Note:**

> I have a headcanon that Cas helps out where he can now that he understands physical human suffering a bit more poignantly. This fic fast-forwards a bit into the future and takes place after a non-canon second war in Heaven, mentioned only in passing here. 
> 
> Love feedback. Love all of you. Keep calm, and write fanfiction. :)

It starts after Castiel loses his grace for the first time, after the weeks he spent dependent on the kindness of strangers. Dean only notices it many years later after a job goes wrong. It should have been Sam sitting next to him, nursing a beer while he crams a a cheeseburger down his gullet in silence. But his brother is busy blaming himself for the missteps of the day, and Dean, in his own downtrodden, surly state, let a very melancholy Sam go wander the streets in solitude as he pleased.

Three shots of whiskey and two bites of the cheeseburger later, Dean prays to Castiel. If he's being completely honest with himself (and he is after three successive shots) he doesn't like Cas to see him in these moods. Of all the humans, creatures, demons, angels - hell, all of the things in existence, Castiel is the last thing he wants witnessing these moments. But he figures this angel hasn't run yet... Quite the opposite, in fact. So Dean gulps down his pride and another bite of cheeseburger, and he prays harder.

And then he's there, hand under the bar on Dean's thigh. He is clean, and his eyes are clear. He looks better than Dean has seen him in a long time.

"You're not okay." It isn't a question. Dean sighs, slips one hand discreetly beneath the bar to rub his thumb over the back of Castiel's hand.

"I'm okay. I'm not terrible. I'm not great. I'm just okay." He turns to see Cas furrow his eyebrows and cock his head inquisitively. Castiel knows by now that pressing Dean for details is both unwelcome and unnecessary. Dean says what he wants to say when he means to say it. Instead, Cas flips his hand to interlace his pristine fingers with Dean's calloused ones. Dean swallows and pulls his hand away, turning back to his cheeseburger with pantomimed zeal. Castiel smiles shallowly, folds his hands in his lap, and settles into the companionable silence.

They carry on like that while Dean demolishes his burger, interrupting the hum of the bar's white noise only once when Dean orders another shot and Castiel leans forward to gruffly add: "Make it two." Something about Dean's demeanor tells him he wishes he wasn't drinking alone tonight, and when Dean turns his head to give him one short nod in solidarity, Cas knows he is right.

An hour or minutes later - hard to say, really - Dean is lathering the last of his french fries in ketchup when Castiel signals for the bartender and orders a second cheeseburger and fries to go. Exasperated, Dean wipes his hands on his jeans and turns to Cas.

"Look, man. I appreciate you throwing one back with me, but don't you think chowing down a full meal is a bit much?"

"It's not for me."

"Well, I'm full. Could use another drink, but I won't eat another burger tonight. You really shouldn't have ordered it."

"It's not for you."

Dean smirks, momentarily lifted out of the blues. His angel could still surprise him after all these years. _Okay, fine. A little mystery might just improve this totally shit night._

The bag of food arrives, and the bartender places the bill between them. Shaking his head, his lips curling up very slightly into a half-amused grin, Dean pulls out his wallet, prepared to pay the full tab. Cas reaches across to stop him with one arm, pressing a few crisp bills across the bar with the other. Turning, he flashes an easy smile at Dean, who reluctantly gives up the struggle to buy his own meal.

"Cas, where did you get that? Why in the world are you carrying around money?"

"It doesn't matter. Let me buy you dinner, Dean."

Those words crest over him, and Dean is hit with a wave of exhaustion. He always forgets how it feels to be cared for until Castiel pulls moments like this out of his back pocket. He was unprepared for this simple feeling of home. With one long exhale and a flutter of lashes, he claps Castiel on the shoulder and begins to steer him out of the bar, leaning into the shorter man's frame with unguarded affection.

Outside the bar, Dean turns left toward the motel across the street when he feels the warmth to his right suddenly disappear. He pivots to see Castiel walking purposefully in the other direction, and for a moment his stomach drops. _He's leaving. Why is he leaving?_

Cas moves just beyond the glow of the streetlight at the bar's entrance. From where he is standing, Dean can barely make out his form, crouching low to the ground. As Dean approaches, he can hear Cas talking to a figure sitting up against a rusted blue mailbox, knees pulled to her chest... a girl. No, a woman. They speak quietly, as if sharing secrets, until the woman abruptly snorts in unbridled laughter. She seems startled by the sound, and it ends almost as soon as it begins. Dean watches Cas hand over the bag of food and lean in to kiss her on the cheek. He stands and makes his way back to Dean, who is rooted where he paused by the streetlight, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"What was that? Is she another angel? After everything they've done to you - to us..." Dean whispers urgently, his hand involuntarily grasping at Cas' elbow to pull him close. He's seen too much, too many liars, too many manipulative Warriors of God to trust another one of them with Castiel. His Castiel. He glares over Cas' shoulder at the woman on the sidewalk and moves to put himself between the two of them, protective and wary. Castiel slips his hand into Dean's and pulls him gently toward the motel. After a moment, Dean relents and follows him, but he doesn't quit looking suspiciously over his shoulder at the woman who is receding from his view until they make it inside his room. He locks the door more out of habit than in an attempt to bar the gates against the woman. The room is dimly lit, and neither move to turn on any more intrusive lighting.

"What the hell, Cas? I thought we agreed we were done with them! Cold turkey. Doesn't matter what they want anymore or what kind of shit they're living in now - not after what they did to us in the last war. And you're feeding them? I mean, their vessels? What could you possibly have said to make her laugh?" His voice shakes with anger, the combination of fatigue and confusion and failure all swelling into a rage that Castiel can feel in the part of Dean's soul that will always resonate within his vessel.

"Cas - we promised each other. We fucking promised each other." Dean kicks off his shoes and stalks towards the bathroom, apparently desperate to put some space between himself and the angel.

"She's not an angel, Dean. She's human." Dean pauses, huffs, and runs both hands over his face. When he turns around, he finds Castiel sitting awkwardly on the edge of the bed, gazing nervously down at his feet. Nervous is new for Cas, Dean knows, so when he approaches the angel he moves slowly, gives him space. Inches between them feel like oceans, but Dean is sitting on the other side of the bed when speaks.

"Okay. I'm sorry. Cas... What was that? I'm trying..." He starts and stops, frustrated and a bit raw. "Look, you know I trust you. It's you and me here. But I need to know why you've gone all Mother Teresa all of a sudden. Because..." Dean looks up at the ceiling, a blush creeping across his cheeks. "...because I worry about you."

He chances a sideways glance at Cas and finds the angel still peering down at his shoes. The clock on the wall ticks ticks ticks... until finally Castiel begins to whisper, his voice like gravel, strained.

"You and your brother. You've been saving people from big things for a very long time. Life and death. Good and evil. I suppose I've been a part of that... occasionally... but I've also screwed it up for you, too." He pauses. Dean inhales. Slides towards him, their knees touching, and stares straight ahead, remembering. Sad hours seem long, indeed.

Castiel continues. "Sometimes I feel... impotent. Especially against the big things." He looks away from Dean toward the door, but reaches over to take his hand. "When I lost my grace, I felt hungry. I felt cold. I felt exhaustion." Castiel's eyes flicker all about the room, trying hard not to lose himself in the memory of any one hardship. "Of course I'd considered these things as an angel, but the immensity of human suffering was a big thing - a part of the fate of the world over which I had no control. But then I felt them, and I learned that hunger in one person is a small thing to everyone but that person."

Dean can't take it any longer. He reaches with his other hand to cup at Castiel's cheek, turning the angel's head toward his. Cas closes his eyes and sighs heavily.

"Maybe these days I can't do much about the big things, the monsters and the demons. All the things you and Sam hunt. But... I don't know. I buy them meals whenever you have a meal. Whenever I have a reason to be in a restaurant. It's a small thing that I know how to do. Until... you know... we figure out the rest of this mess." It takes all the courage he has to open his eyes and look up at Dean. He isn't sure what he expects to see, but he feels Dean's soul flitting somewhere between incredulity and shame. _Why? Why would you feel ashamed, Dean?_

He doesn't ask the question out loud, but it lingers palpably in the air around them. Dean breaks the silence with an awkward, sad chuckle. He can't let Castiel feel like this a second longer.

"Cas. Look at me. I... love that you do this. I mean, fuck... Sometimes we lose against the big things. We lost today. You didn't. Little battles, apocalyptic wars - every win counts.

But you need to know you're a part of the big things, too. I mean..."

Dean stops, drops his hand from Castiel's face, unsure of what to say. It will sound cheesy. It will sound ridiculous and stupid and so Chick Flick Moment... He should just say it out loud. Yes, he could get out of bed every morning, disheveled and hungover, and like a good solider march back into the fray without the hope that maybe the day will end in tangled limbs and the smell of Castiel's hair on the pillow next to him. He could do it. But what would be the point? What do the big things matter without the small? The flutter of dark wings curling around his body in an embrace as Castiel comes inside him, the reverent touch of the angel's fingers tracing over his scars with silent adoration, the way Cas wakes him up too early every time just so he can hear Dean half-heartedly grumble before pulling him closer.

He commits. He won't say another word. Instead, he pulls Cas' hand, the one that is warm with tension in his own, and brings it to his lips.

"Dean."

It's a plea, and Dean can't resist. Standing, he shifts to plant himself between Cas' knees and begins working at the angel's tie. Castiel looks up at Dean to see if he can find any regret in the man's eyes, but he is focused resolutely on divesting his partner of the tie and will not meet Cas' gaze.

But he does smile. A shy smile that looks out of place on the face that can play cocky so well. A smile that Cas has to reach out and touch, fingers pressed to Dean's mouth like he's reading a long forgotten tactile language. The tie flys out from under his collar with a tug, and Dean moves on to the beige trenchcoat that he once used as a blanket while curled up in the back seat of the Impala, angry at Castiel for breaking open the world, heartsick at Castiel for leaving him alone in it. He pushes it down the angel's shoulders, and Cas stands to let it fall to the floor, raises his digits again to continue playing across Dean's lips. Finally, the man stares back and, as if he is surprised to find that the creature caressing his features is truly Castiel, grins like a child waking up to fresh snowfall.

Cas is forced to relent with his fingers as Dean leans down, arms encircling Castiel's waist. He pauses a breath away from Cas' lips, still smiling, before he flicks his tongue out and up to dot the tip of the angel's nose. Who says Dean Winchester can't be playful? He's safe here. Cas is safe here. And why not? Maybe they deserve a little frivolity tonight.

The angel laughs, short and heady in the dark, and it sends a shiver straight down through Dean's stomach to his cock. And then Cas' hands are in Dean's hair, pulling his lips down into a wild, joyful kiss. Forget the day's loss, the hunger of billions, the staggering weight of all that they have done and all that they cannot. Gravity cannot touch them, not when Dean is laughing into Castiel's mouth and they're falling backward onto the bed, tangled limbs and frantic hands pulling at shirts and belt buckles. Soon they're wearing nothing at all, lying side by side and breathless. Dean breaks away to look Castiel in the eyes, his hand smoothing back the angel's hair, their bodies still as they each contemplate the other's perfect imperfections.

Castiel recalls a line from a poem he never understood before Dean: _and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart..._

And when the rush of that lyrical phrase hits him, he pushes Dean back against the bed, eyes wide open and so blue that Dean feels like he's looking up at the bright clear skies that adorn the wide open spaces of the countryside. He feels small in the reflection of those crystalline eyes, but as Cas begins to nip lightly at his neck he comes surging back into his body, grounded by electricity. Dean sucks in breath, reeling as Cas teases him with his tongue, swiping circles down the sensitive skin just above his collarbone. He growns quietly when Cas starts moving downward to his chest, his chapped lips closing over Dean's nipple, and soon Dean is writhing underneath Cas in a desperate attempt to feel more of the angel's skin against his. Dean's hands come up to card through Cas' hair, gently insisting that he turn his attentions to his weeping cock.

Castiel obliges, kisses a trail down Dean's pelvis towards his straining erection. Excruciatingly slowly, he licks up Dean's hard length, tonguing at the spot just beneath the tip, and Dean moans in ecstasy. Cas' lips close of the head, and his cheeks hollow has he sucks. Dean bucks his hips involuntarily up into the heat of Castiel's gorgeous mouth, and Cas hums contentedly as he takes all of Dean in one motion, his hand reaching up to twist Dean's nipple lightly. Lewd noises fill the darkened room, the sound of wet lips suckling and smacking against the base of Dean's cock as Cas quickens his pace, and Dean thinks it is the sexiest thing he's ever heard. Grasping at brunette tendrils, Dean spews unintelligible endearments staccatoed with curse words, a melody that accompanies the fucking hot slurping of Castiel's expert blow job in symphonic consonance.

Dean has to look - he just has to see Castiel moving in time with this lurid sonatina - and when he lifts his head to peer down at the angel, he sees Cas smirking, and _fuck_ \- he didn't even know Cas could make a face like that, so smugly satisfied with himself that he looks more devil than divine. When Cas' eyes flicker up to meet Dean's, the man loses everything in a heartbeat, spine arching, hips bucking, his cock thrust down Cas' throat, the angel swallowing his seed as if it were his lifeblood. Maybe it is.

Dean is panting, incoherent and dizzy as Cas cleans his body with his holy mouth. When Cas is satisfied with his work, he climbs his way up toward Dean and inserts himself into the crook of his human's arm.

"Castiel." Dean uses his full name, burdened with the idea that he hasn't bestowed the same pleasure that has been given to him. Cas lines his jaw with kisses, chaste and tender and meant to placate Dean's stupid worries. His hand travels down his own body to palm his hard and aching cock, perfectly content to satisfy himself as Dean floats down from his reverie, but Dean rolls atop Cas in one swift movement.

In an instant, Dean's hand is wrapped around his erection, pumping in time with his frantic breath. Cas can't help but whisper his human's name over and over, a kind of prayer, a vigil he secretly holds at all times. But Dean is there, his eyes fixated on the angel's, and Cas can't hold anything back, not with those fingers gripping him with the experience of many lifetimes, with the deft precision of a man who knows his lover. He spills his load over Dean's hand with abandon, unabashed and ripe. Dean leans in to suck playfully at Cas' earlobe as he milks the last of the angel. He marks Cas' chest as he kisses his way down to lap up the salty sweet juices covering his belly. Eyes lidded, he looks up to find Cas watching him, a quiet smile set on his dazed and satiated countenance.

The woman outside has finished her burger and fries and stands to throw away the trash in the dumpster behind the bar. She wouldn't like what the angel and the man have just done in the motel room across the way. It's not right. It's unnatural, she would think.

But she doesn't know about what they've done or who they are. All she knows is that a stranger with eyes that betray he is much older than he looks is the reason she won't go to sleep hungry tonight. And that's all Castiel wanted from her. Dean would feel differently, he knows, but what the human doesn't know about this woman won't hurt him. 

Let him save his energy for the next Big Thing.


End file.
